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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26278459">Awful</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka'>yeaka</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Ficlet, M/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 06:33:45</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,145</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26278459</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Detroit become very unprofessional.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Hank Anderson/Connor</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>61</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Awful</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Disclaimer: I don’t own Detroit: Become Human or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Gavin’s had two strikes in a row for the exact same thing, and he <i>knows</i> he’s on thin ice. Fowler says he doesn’t give second chances, even though they’ve all seen him dole out third and fourths for Anderson. But Anderson’s somehow the golden child of the precinct, despite being drunk half the time and more absent than not. Gavin <i>tries</i> to ignore that. He tries to focus on his work. He grits his teeth and types out his report, reminding himself for the millionth time that he needs to get new headphones. He broke his on Thursday—threw them against the wall when a certain ‘coworker’ left him a ‘work-related’ message while Anderson moaned in the background. Now he’s got no refuge—all he can do is try his best to mentally block out the conversation going on across the floor.</p><p>“I’m telling you, you left your boxers at my place last night.”</p><p>“And I’m telling you, Lieutenant, I did not.”</p><p>It’s amazing that no one else is fuming over it. No one else is even <i>looking</i>. Sure, Tina’s got her ear buds in, but Chris doesn’t, and he’s steadily typing along like they’re not having <i>yet another</i> episode of ‘some-the-fuck-how Anderson is banging the office sexbot.’ Maybe no one else is technically at their desk, but Ben’s wandered by a dozen times—it blows Gavin’s mind every time he walks past without stopping to gape at Anderson’s audacity. The tin-cans lining the walls don’t even blink. Anderson lets out a heavy sigh like <i>he’s</i> the one their resident RK800’s torturing. </p><p>“Look, last I checked, I’m not sleeping with any other twinks half my size. I know my own underwear, okay?”</p><p>“I was not suggesting you didn’t,” Connor smoothly retorts, never once looking up from his screen—the bastard has the cheek to conduct work <i>and</i> ruin Gavin’s life all at the same time. “Nor was I suggesting you’re having an affair. Perhaps Sumo carried them in from the neighbour’s driveway? The Fieldsons do tend to hang their laundry outside to dry.” He pauses to reach across their joined desks and plucks a manila folder off the side of Anderson’s keyboard. “Also, I’m hardly half your size.”</p><p>Anderson snorts. “Look, would you just admit you’re not perfect? You left your underwear, case closed. Now can we stop arguing about this at work?”</p><p>Yes. They absolutely need to stop arguing about it in front of <i>literally everyone</i>, but mostly Gavin, who’s hitting his keys so hard that the ‘H’ actually gets stuck, permanently depressed. Like Gavin’s been ever since he realized Connor would be staying and <i>Anderson gets to fuck him.</i> Not that Gavin would want to instead. Gavin has better things to do. Like stab his ‘H’ over and over again in the hopes the whole thing will just explode and save him from his excruciating life. </p><p>“As our relationship is already on record with HR, and we’re not discussing anything intimate, there should be no issue. This is a practical matter.”</p><p>“For fuck’s sake Connor. They’re your damn boxers.”</p><p>“I assure you, they’re not.”</p><p>Gavin’s going to kill them. He’s going to fly across his desk and actually kill them. He doesn’t care if it’ll be his third and final strike.</p><p>“How can you be so sure?”</p><p>“Because, Hank, I don’t <i>wear</i> boxers.”</p><p>There’s a long, horribly awkward silence where Gavin doesn’t look over and doesn’t see how red Anderson’s face has gotten and Gavin <i>absolutely</i> isn’t picturing Connor sans-boxers. Sans all clothes. Stark naked. Like the damn Traci he is. He has the nerve to sit all prim and proper in his seat with his back arched just so and his hair ever-so-slightly disheveled and that mole on his forehead screaming ‘lick me,’ while Gavin just sits there and suffers. </p><p>Anderson eventually grunts, “Whatever, maybe they were briefs—”</p><p>“I don’t wear briefs either. As I wasn’t designed to be undressed, undergarments are not a part of my uniform. If you paid more attention while you were undressing me, you would know that.”</p><p>Anderson’s mouth drops open, palpably flabbergasted. He finally looks exactly as embarrassed as he should be. He <i>finally</i> lowers his voice, leaning across his desk to hiss, “I damn well do pay attention when I’m stripping you, you brat—but obviously I’m not paying attention to the clothes I’m taking <i>off</i>—”</p><p>Connor leans closer too and modulates his voice accordingly. “<i>I</i> manage to keep track of not only what underwear you’re wearing each and every day, but what socks, what cologne, what toothpaste you’ve used—”</p><p>“You’re a damn android!”</p><p>“And you’re a man that professes to care for me, not just my genitals—”</p><p>“Connor, if I saw you like the fleshlight you seem to think you are to me, we wouldn’t be having this conversation, because I’d have left you handcuffed to my bed with <i>my</i> boxers stuffed in your mouth and your lubrication protocols running all night—”</p><p>Before Gavin knows what he’s doing, he’s throwing his stapler at them. Connor catches it before it can collide with Anderson’s skull, and then they’re both looking at him in <i>surprise</i>, as though they weren’t just arguing about their somehow-very-active sex life <i>right in front of him.</i> He doesn’t stay to yell his head off like he wants to. He’s busy stomping into Fowler’s officer. He kicks the glass door open without waiting for Fowler to usher him in.</p><p>He opens his mouth, and Fowler looks up from his paperwork to snap, “Reed, this better not be about you sexualizing the office android again.”</p><p>Gavin splutters. <i>He</i> didn’t do anything. And Connor’s not just ‘the office android.’ They have plenty of those parked and offline, and none of <i>them</i> ever tell Gavin they’re not wearing underwear or wink at him in the bathroom or make Anderson coffee like some kind of slutty maid/barista hybrid. “It’s not—”</p><p>“Because I swear to God, if I find out you’re still crushing on Connor, even though I’ve given you <i>two</i> warnings—”</p><p>“I’m not crushing!”</p><p>Fowler squints at him. Gavin fumbles for reason in a logic-less world. He’s fairly positive that Anderson’s straight up fucking Connor on the desks behind him, because Connor seems all too happy to bend over for his lieutenant even though Gavin’s younger and hotter and sober. Not that he wants Connor. Fowler completely has the wrong idea. Just like the last two times Gavin came in to explain about Connor being an evil robot temptress. </p><p>Fowler doesn’t look ready to listen. Gavin digs his fingers into his palm and begrudgingly lies, “The coffee machine’s busted again.” </p><p>Fowler rolls his eyes and drops them back to his work. He doesn’t even give Gavin the dignity of an answer—just waves his hand in dismissal. </p><p>Gavin storms back to his desk, staunchly ignoring the horrifying way Anderson and Connor are eye-fucking like animals.</p>
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